


it's in the blood

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Animal Death, Arranged Marriage, Background Character Death, Blood, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Politics, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: A knight of Fukurodani in the spot Akaashi wishes to camp could spell large amounts of trouble, depending on his opinion on people fleeing into his country from Shiratorizawa. It could also be his ticket to the capital, to his only allies left in the world. Akaashi Keiji, the Uncrowned Archon of Shiratorizawa, has no choice but to gamble with fate - but then again, he'd always been good at gambling.





	1. it's in the blood

As the rays of orange light slant lower through the trees, Akaashi finds exactly what he needs: the perfect camping spot. Unfortunately, it's already occupied. 

It really is the ideal spot, he notes with a sigh: a small clearing in the dense wood, the curving rock face to the north offering shelter from the wind, far enough from the river in case of floods. Of course, the weather is good enough this spring that none of that is a real concern, but even still, the clearing is tucked so neatly away from the main road and is so simple to defend that it's the only place he'd want to rest after a long day on his feet.

It's the presence of the Fukurodani knight that has him paused in the shadow of a large oak tree, watching and calculating his next move, instead of slugging off his heavy pack and setting off for deadwood. Indeed, there's already a small fire going, a pot suspended above, the wafting smells of spiced stew filling the air. The knight's horse, dapple-grey, is tethered to the side of the clearing, grazing. 

The knight watches the fire, poking and prodding between stirs of the stew. His silver-black hair is slicked back into two sharp points - an uncommon style. His shoulders are broader than Akaashi's and, from a quick gauge of his torso and the height of his horse, likely taller. Of course it has to be the most physically intimidating knight in the entire Fukurodani nation camped and waiting in the one spot Akaashi wants to be. 

That's just how things have gone for him, lately. 

A knight could spell large amounts of trouble, depending on his opinion on people fleeing into his country from Shiratorizawa. He could be part of a rescue effort, or a deportation effort. Akaashi has no way to hide where he's from - his accent alone is a dead giveaway, and there are too many people running north for a lone traveller, especially one without a horse, to be from anywhere else. In his two days since crossing the border (really, in his week since fleeing the Amethyst Castle) he's avoided any human contact, just in case. Having to forego the news is the price he had to pay to avoid the rumours that would have outrun him.

But a knight could also be his ticket to the capital city, if he plays his cards right. To the Crown Prince, to the Queens themselves, if his luck returns. And, luck or no luck, Akaashi Keiji, the Uncrowned Archon of Shiratorizawa, can gamble with the best.

He slips back into the forest for a moment. He adjusts his pack, followed by his belt, and then, finally, his sword. Black cloth wraps around the hilt, disguising the swan engraved there, the symbol of the Archons. He tugs the cloth tight - more of a mental reassurance than out of any need. It isn't going anywhere. He touches his collar for the same reason, outlining the edge of his necklace, both the pendant and the ring hidden there. With one final breath, he steps from the filtered shadows into the glow of the bonfire.

"Hello from the cold," he says, the formal greeting to ask to share camp rolling off his tongue. He keeps his hands at his sides, well away from the sword hilt. After a week of minimal talking, his voice sounds odd to his own ears. 

The knight glances up at him. His eyes are amber, near the same as the sinking sunlight, but they seem unfocused. He doesn't quite make eye contact, moreso examines Akaashi's face, and returns to poking the fire with a stick. A large sigh escapes his lips, heavy enough with exhaustion and without a single trace of interest that Akaashi has to stop his eyebrows from shooting up. He's quite used to being disrespected, but he isn't used to being ignored.

"Hello from the warmth." The reply is more of a groan than the invitation it should be. The knight's voice isn't as deep as Akaashi expected. He's young, possibly Akaashi's age, and this time as he pokes the fire, Akaashi realizes the logs aren't burning - the fire merely sits above them, around them. 

Practical magic. He should have guessed.

It's as he searches the flames for the little bundle, the Ornament that would be the source of the spell, that the knight snaps his head around. The movement makes Akaashi glance over, just in time to see the knight's eyes go wide and dart up and down, as if he hadn't actually noticed Akaashi the first time. He scrambles to his feet, taking two large strides forwards, his own sword and breastplate left abandoned on the ground behind him.

"I'm sorry- I didn't- your accent, I wasn't thinking! I should have noticed." The words tumble from his mouth, almost too quick to sort. His hands fumble in wild patterns in front of him. "There's been so many people lately- and I'm waiting, I should pay more attention, but it's so empty and lonely most of the time and how am I supposed to know who I'm looking for, and all I've got for company is Ace here, and he's a horse-"

"Excuse me?" Akaashi can't keep the confusion from his voice, even as he struggles to keep it from his face. The knight pauses, hands frozen between them, before straightening and clearing his throat. Akaashi had been right - he is taller, even without the hair. 

He's also starting to rethink his plan to get an escort to the capital. 

"Sorry, sorry, I can get a little carried away sometimes!" The knight offers a bow, respectfully low, before he straightens with two fingers over his heart. The formal Fukurodani salute. "My name is Kou, of the Queens' Knights, and you are welcome at my camp. We're here to help." 

He flashes a grin, which Akaashi does not return, but he does nod his gratitude. At least Fukurodani isn't going to toss him out. Kou - and that can't be his full name, not that Akaashi intends to give his real one - is already shifting back to the fire, gesturing to Akaashi to take a seat. 

Akaashi follows, unbelting his sword as he goes. He sits across the small fire, lying the sword down against the ground before sliding off his pack. He feels the relief in his legs, the stiffness in his muscles beginning to fade. No matter how in shape he is, walking for so many hours a day is still new, and exhausting. He rubs a tender spot in his thigh, eyes darting around the camp.

Ace, the horse, seems largely unperturbed by the new visitor. Now that he's closer Akaashi can tell how strongly built he is, the training he's had. If there was any doubt in his mind Kou really was a knight, it would have been alleviated then - no one else had need of a war horse. There's little else Akaashi hasn't already seen, but he does let his eyes wander over Kou's sword.

The hilt is wrapped, same as Akaashi's. He pauses, lips pursed. The image nags at him, but before he can explore it, Kou speaks up.

"You're welcome to have some stew when it's done. I know what it's like living on whatever rations you've got, and it's so tiring!" He gives it a good stir as he talks, his grin reaching his eyes. He leans in. It's hard to believe mere minutes ago he was completely despondent. "And I have an extra bowl, somewhere, so don't worry about, uh, eating it with your hands, or anything. My camp is your camp, and you're welcome to anything here!" A pause, as his head tilts to the side. He frowns, the expression changing his entire face. "Okay, well, not like _anything_ , I can't give you Ace, for instance, he's mine, or-"

"Stew is plenty, thank you," Akaashi interjects. He bites back a sigh. Perhaps he's more exhausted than he thinks, being unable to keep up with this strange knight. He knows he should be able to handle this. It's not any worse than mingling with nobles with hidden agendas, or keeping up with clashing, fast travelling rumours. Deep breaths.

Kou seems unperturbed at being interrupted, resuming his incredibly pointless habit of poking the fire. Akaashi holds himself back from jumping in and asking about the Ornament, which he still has yet to locate in the fire. Tradition first, questions later, if he's up for them. Akaashi opens his pack, rooting around his cloak and extra shirt to the bundle carrying his food. He takes a moment to ensure the large envelope at the bottom is still undamaged. His fingers tracing the rough leather and twine.

Of everything he managed to grab before he fled, it might be the most important of all.

Leaving it where it is, he draws out two apples and closes the pack. He watches Kou watch the fire, the setting sun casting long shadows on them both. There's tightness around the knight's eyes, sadness. Akaashi wonders what orders he's on, what the situation here is, that would cause the expression.

He doesn't ask. Instead, he clears his throat. Kou snaps to attention, the tightness melting back into a grin as he tilts his head to the side. "Yes?"

"Here." Akaashi tosses the apple. Kou catches it out of the air, his head moving even further towards the shoulder as he examines the object. When recognition flashes in his eyes, his smile tugs wider. He bites down without hesitating. Akaashi pulls out his belt knife, although it's in his boot, not his belt, and presses it into the apple's skin. "I don't have anything more... appropriate, to give, but I can't allow you to give me shelter and food without something in return."

Kou's eyes dance, but whether it's from the fire or his expression is impossible to say. "You Southerners. Always with the formalities, the traditions... this is a great apple, by the way. Don't worry about giving me anything more. You're fleeing here, and we're a hospitable group, us knights!"

Juice dribbles down Kou's chin. He wipes it with the back of his sleeve. Akaashi feels a wry grin spread on his own face. "Thank you."

"It's hard. No reason for us to make it harder! You're holding up well, too, for a noble. Last one I helped was in tears the whole time."

Akaashi forces himself not to stiffen, and to slice into the apple like nothing's wrong. He knew he could never hide being a noble - everything from his manner of speech, to his unscarred skin, to the relative lack of callus on his hands marks him. So long as Kou doesn't question the degree of his nobility, so long as he can present himself as a second son, a lesser noble line, he'll be safe. The camp is risk enough. No need to gamble more than he can afford to lose.

"It's been difficult for all of us, these past days," Akaashi agrees. He takes a bite as Kou resumes the poking. Akaashi curls his toes in his boots. "I fear I haven't introduced myself. I am Kageyama Tobio." He hopes Kageyama doesn't mind him borrowing his identity - he is a real noble, and Akaashi needs a disguise. Mostly, he hopes Kageyama, wherever he is, never finds out. 

Kou gives no hint if he suspects anything, finishing his apple off by eating the core and licking his fingers. "Kageyama's a Crow's name, isn't it?"

"My mother is from Karasuno, yes." A truth: Kageyama's mother did come from the country. "We take-"

"Right, right, you take your mothers' names," Kou waves a hand, as if this is the millionth time Akaashi's reminded him instead of the first. He leans back, the motion casual, his eyes sharp. They dart about the camp, examining everything. Calculating. Akaashi squares his own shoulder, bringing another slice of apple to his mouth. "Y'know, Kageyama, maybe there is something else you can give me."

"Hm?" Akaashi slides his gaze over, but his mind starts working full speed. He calculates the distance between himself and Kou, the time it would take to draw his sword and defend himself if the request is something he has no intention of giving. 

"Information."

A much easier answer. Akaashi leans back, propped on an elbow, drawing his eyes away from his sword. "I can do my best to answer, certainly. Though I might not have much recent information to give." 

"Accurate is more my concern. The rumours gain more and more limbs as they spread, and it's harder to pick out the truth. The truth is what I need." Kou's expression sets: determined, the tightness back around his eyes. His knuckles are pale as he grips the stirring spoon in his hand hard enough to snap it. "Is it true that the Archon's dead?"

Ice runs through Akaashi's entire body, near freezing the blood in his veins. It's a fair question, he knows, but one still raw, a wound still gaping in his side. Tightness in his chest, a pinch in the back of his mind. He wills himself to breathe, to remain calm.

All he can see is the body of his father, pale and wrong and empty, lying in his sickbed. 

Something must show on his face despite his best efforts. Kou starts waving his hands, nearly flinging the spoon out of them. His eyes are wide. "Sorry! Sorry, that was insensitive, I mean, he is... was? Your king... well not a king, he was Archon, but it's close enough, and... gah, I should've thought." 

"It's alright," Akaashi replies. Back straight, eyes forward. The Archon was his father, but he was only Kageyama's ruler. More emotion is too much of a risk. He finishes the apple off, tossing the core towards the forest. He takes a deep breath. Composed. "It's true. The Archon is dead."

"...I am sorry. I had hoped..." Kou's voice trails off, eyes wandering upwards. He touches his chest: not the two fingered salute of Fukurodani, but a clenched fist. A sign of respect for the deceased. 

It's an unusual gesture from a knight of another land who'd likely only seen his own rulers a handful of times, who'd likely never set foot in the Archon's nation to the south. But Kou offers it sincerely, eyes tracing the heavens, the slowly emerging stars. It's a testament to the stories he must have heard, about the Archon's fairness in rule and hardness in battle. The prosperity of his nation under his reign. His peace treaties that hold enough sway for Fukurodani's Queens to allow refugees in without question. The promise of uniting their lands, pledging Akaashi's hand to the Crown Prince and forestalling generations of war in one document. His father's legacy is still with him: a shadow, a guiding light, just appearing in the blue sky above.

Akaashi swallows. His chest twinges, aches, his heart still raw and ragged beneath his acting. It's a _very_ good thing he has a grip, however small, on his emotions. 

Kou lowers his hand to his side.

"Do you know..." Kou frowns at the fire. He huffs through his nose, head tilting to the side. He taps his temple. "That is, I heard... the way he died, was it..."

"If you're asking if he was murdered, he wasn't," Akaashi replies. Kou flinches: that had been his question, though he had yet to find the words for it. Akaashi answers the next inevitable one as well. "I heard he'd been having chest pains for a while, but no one could say how long. It was only a few weeks ago they got so severe. There's no hint of foul play." It had been for two months, and no healer could find a reason, a cure. Not a one. But Kageyama wouldn't know that. It's the truth: just not all of it.

"Hum... I suppose that's going to be the only good news, too," Kou sighs. His eyes wander again, over his horse and the rock face, before settling back to the fire. He yelps, near screams, and launches to his feet. 

Akaashi sits upright, hand on his sword, the blade pulled an inch out. His eyes narrow, scan the area, alert for threats, changes, anything and anyone coming out. Coming after him. He finds nothing. He flicks his gaze back to the middle of camp, where Kou stirs the stew with vigour. Akaashi's eyes land on his face - there's panic around his eyes, hints of guilt. Akaashi's mouth drops open for a moment before he can close it. That large a reaction for forgetting to stir a stew for a minute. 

He wishes there was a different knight here. 

The stew, despite the panic, seems to meet Kou's satisfaction, and he shuffles to his bags to pull out two chipped, sturdy bowls. Akaashi does have his own, but he lets Kou act like the good host he so clearly wishes to be, in the middle of the forest as night sets in. He pours Akaashi's first, stuffs a spoon in it, and hands it to him with a flourish and a bow better suited for court. Akaashi nods in thanks as he takes it.

It's the first proper hot meal he's had since he left the Amethyst Castle, and it's good. Best of all, it has meat (and Akaashi doesn't care what kind of meat, so long as it's in there). Akaashi eats two bowls, and Kou three, in general silence except for nods and thank yous. The sun slips down to darkness, the stew pot empties, and each moment Kou's face gets a little darker, a little tighter. It's no surprise at all when he collects the bowls and settles down, back straight, fingers drumming into his leg. Akaashi knows what's coming next. 

It's the only question left to ask.

"There's no nice way to say this," Kou grumbles. He shifts his shoulders. "Kageyama, is it true, about the Heir? Did he really destroy the Amethyst Castle? Does he..." Kou pauses, eyes staring into the fire, the ambers picking out the fine reds and oranges before it. "Does he really have the Gift?"

Akaashi isn't prepared for the phrasing, however prepared he was for the question, and his face, his heart, harden to steel. The _Gift_ , Kou says, as if it isn't the end of the world, as if it's a normal thing to have, to want. As if the knowledge of it hasn't haunted Akaashi every waking second since his father died. As if there isn't a monster lurking under his skin, crawling his veins, at this very moment. 

_Gift_ is a word the fools in Fukurodani use for Natural magic. For being born with power no one should possess. For channeling life force into action, to create and destroy without Ornaments, to be unable to access Practical magic at all, for that matter. Akaashi feels it, churning inside him, a sickening aftertaste, a rise of bile no swallowing can stop.

Akaashi is not gifted with anything. He is doomed.

"He's not the Heir anymore," Akaashi begins. The words come from grit teeth, growled out low. His breath is shallow and shuddering, doing nothing to ease his tone. "Akaashi is the Uncrowned Archon now, since his father is dead. I don't know where you heard the ridiculous rumour about the Amethyst Castle, but it's hardly destroyed. He blew out one wall from one tower."

One wall, from one tower, as his nails dug deep into his palms, as tears streamed down his face. One wall from one trickle of blood hitting the air, one burst of sadness and pain at the loss of his father. That's all it takes for Natural magic: a feeling, and blood. It was only twenty-two years of luck he hadn't used it before, and that protection went to shreds at the worst possible moment.

Admitting it to Kou isn't any easier than admitting it to himself. He has to pretend to be Kageyama, pretend the man they both speak of isn't shaking in his boots with shame, with hate, with the one thing he hoped he could leave behind in Shiratorizawa. "He can use Natural magic. It's why the land is being torn apart, why people are fleeing. Their next Archon is a traitor, and a monster, and the only claim to their throne."

He's yelling, by the time he reaches the end. The anger rolls in his stomach, at himself, at the magic within him clouding his judgment, at his weakness after a week of stress and change, little food and little sleep. He's holding a bad hand of cards, and doing a poor job bluffing. He had thought himself better than this. 

The shame twists inside him. He had thought himself better than a lot of things he'd done.

Kou is silent. He doesn't look away from the fire, still stabbing it with his infernal stick. His breath is drawn, worn. His eyes are hard. "In Fukurodani," he says, slow, as if explaining to a disobedient child, "we do not condemn people for having the Gift. If you're going to stay here, you'll need to learn that."

A deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. "I'm sorry." He sits up, knees pressed to his chest as he takes another. Composure. Even if Kou isn't an ideal escort, having a knight against him won't win him any favours. He needs the trust. "It's been... hard. I know you have different laws here around Natural magic." Another pause, another breath. 

"Why did you come here?" The question is quiet, but not gentle. Akaashi curses himself a hundred times over. He's damn near wasted the entire night on one outburst. Kou finally looks up to meet his gaze. Akaashi may as well be trying to stare down a wall. "Surely you know people with the Gift live here like you or I."

If only Kou knew how little they had in common. Akaashi forces himself to swallow his sigh. This time, when he speaks, it's more a half-truth at best. "I've come to follow him. Natural magic or no, he's still... he still has the only claim on the throne. I think he's on the way to your capital to seek an audience with the Queens, or perhaps his betrothed." Kou blinks at the word, and Akaashi does his best not to fumble as he continues. Everyone knows about it. That doesn't make it less embarrassing. "Shiratorizawa is on the edge of a civil war, Kou. The Uncrowned Archon's half-brother is razing the land to find him and take him to justice, but he is treating anyone who doesn't agree as the enemy. He has no formal claim: only the Archon can name an Heir, and he is not one. The people wonder what's worse: the former Heir they loved, who has Natural magic? Or the half-brother, burning their farms, intent on claiming what is not his? So we flee."

Silence. Kou seems to be processing, the sharp edge sliding off his face. A small relief: things are back in Akaashi's favour. He glances to the sky, to the stars now glowing brightly. He wonders if he'll get any sleep tonight, to make up for the few snatched hours here and there. Perhaps they can watch in shifts. Akaashi certainly has something to watch for.

"It must be hard, having your Archon in that spot," Kou finally says. He leans back a bit, a sigh coming from his lips. He quirks a smile. "But, Kageyama, for you still to come after him, I don't think you can be all bad. Seems I won't have to kick you outta the country after all."

"Were... you testing me?" Akaashi asks, jaw dropping open a bit too far for his liking. Exhaustion. He snaps it shut with a click. 

Kou laughs, shoulders shaking, the grin never wavering on his face. "Maybe a little. But I do really want information. Were you at the castle when all this happened, then?"

"Yes," Akaashi replies. The truth as much as possible: only small lies. 

"Can you tell me about the half-brother? Ushijima's his name, right?"

A politics lesson, in the middle of a camp with a low ranking knight who doesn't know much of the world. Akaashi thinks he can manage talking about the half-brother he's known almost his entire life who now haunting his nightmares. It's easier than his father. Or himself. He straightens his back, stretches his hands over his head. Dirt clings under his nails. He uses the tip of the belt knife to clean them as he lectures.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi, yes. The Uncrowned Archon's only half-brother, and the only other child of the previous Archon. They had different mothers, so different names. Akaashi is the elder by a year, and was proclaimed Heir at his birth. Ushijima is a stickler to the law, which is why he wants Akaashi back and won't claim the throne until then." Kou cocks his head to the side. Akaashi puts the knife away to pinch his nose. He thought he'd already explained this. "It's treason to try and take the throne in Shiratorizawa until unless you're the Heir. When an Archon dies, the Heir immediately is raised to the status of Uncrowned, and when they are crowed in the Amethyst Castle, they start their reign. And name an Heir. So, naturally, Akaashi has to be brought back, name an Heir, and then face his death sentence for using Natural magic, before there's a new ruler. Do you understand now?" 

"Yes, sir," Kou drones, head lolling to the side as he rolls his eyes, bored out of his mind. Akaashi narrows his eyes as his mouth parts, just a bit. Had he just...

The same moment, Kou yelps, waving his hands in front of his face. "I mean, well, uh, thank you, for explaining that, to me! It's hard to keep track of all the rules for every nation, and it's been a long week... probably longer for you! Thank you!"

Kou jabs at the fire, shaking his head at himself. Akaashi spends a moment blinking before he returns to pinching his nose. 

He spots the Ornament when he looks into the fire.

It's all Akaashi can do not to leap into the fire itself for a better look. He'd not been allowed to try it in the Castle, and he's technically unable to use it, but it fascinates him. Combining items to create magic, safely, and in controlled circumstances. Nothing like the wildness of Natural magic. They could be used for luck and health, or, in this case, to create a fire that sits above the logs it should be consuming. How was it constructed? The base material? It seems to be a rock of some sort. The additions? Something long and thin, but what he can't make out. Kou must have made the Ornament, so how skilled is he? Practical magic users in Shiratorizawa, rare as they are, couldn't accomplish this, and-

"Do you really think he'll come here?"

Akaashi jumps, shoulders going up to his ears. He clears his throat. Kou, thankfully, hadn't noticed him spacing out. His face slips downwards, his expression a ghost of the excitable knight from moments before. It makes Akaashi purse his lips. It makes him want to tell the truth - if not the whole truth. "I do. He'd head straight to the Queens and your Prince. The peace treaty is dependant on him, after all, and it's the only place he has allies for certain. It's also a good place for... the rest of us to go, to meet him."

"I see." Kou drops his fire stick and reaches his hand to his collarbone, fingers tracing his tunic in absent circles. There's a faint outline there, one Akaashi is surprised to recognize. Everything clicks into place: Kou's concerns over travellers, his statement about waiting for something, why he's here at the border.

"Your betrothed," Akaashi says. "Are they a noble, then?"

"My - my what?" Kou actually leaps to his feet in surprise, earning a snort from Ace. Kou makes a few cooing noises, before he clears his throat. It might be the shadows, or the light, but Akaashi thinks his cheeks are a little too dark. "I, I mean, how did you-"

"You were touching the necklace, right?" Kou nods, mouth clamped shut. He looks as if he's trying to contain an explosion. He is _definitely_ blushing. Akaashi's own necklace is tucked in the same spot, and it's hard not to touch it in solidarity. "It's alright. I won't pry. It's just, if they're a noble, I might be able to tell you if they're coming this way."

"Ah, ah, that's, no," Kou fumbles. His hands are wild, gesturing every direction, dragging through his spiked hair. "He's not - I mean, he is from Shiratorizawa, and, I'm worried, but I doubt you'd know him, because, haha, it's not like knights are just, like, _betrothed_ to nobles, right? I'm just, you know, some dude, nothing fancy. With some dude. As my betrothed. Who..."

Kou sits down, heavy. His sigh is strong enough to move the flames. Akaashi blinks. He can't figure out how else to react.

"I'm worried, even though I know he's smart. Smarter than I am. I just... I'd hoped to meet him here. Somehow. I think he's the kind of guy who'd... who'd want to follow your next Archon. Even here."

Akaashi struggles to keep himself calm. An unknown denizen, willing to follow him into another country, to uphold his claim. He isn't sure he deserves that kind of dedication, especially from a stranger. 

"Tell me about him."

"Tell you about - what?" Akaashi squints, his head tilting fully to the side. That should have been his question. Kou is looking at him, expression returning, ever slowly, back to a smile. Shadows and light lick the side of his face.

"Tell me about your Uncrowned Archon. You know, Akaashi," he continues, as if it's obvious that's what he had meant. "You know him, right? You're a noble, he's a noble, you were there when all this shit went down, he's the one throwing your country into upheaval. What's he like?"

Akaashi's mouth opens and closes without sound. _Shit._ "Why? I don't see how-" 

"C'mon, it's not like I'll ever get to meet the guy! All I've asked your about is heavy things, and I don't wanna end today thinking about... well. Just give me some insider info, Kags. Can I call you that?"

"No." Never going to meet the guy. Akaashi almost laughs, but manages to hold it in. If only Kou knew. For him, the question is another bad hand, another struggle to contain his exhaustion into something coherent. He might as well get it over with. He clears his throat.

"Well, he's a little distant." Stick to the truth. Harder when it's yourself you need to describe. "He thinks, a lot, and is often shut up in his own head." Too negative. "He's very clever, and smart, and well trained at politics. He has a good grasp on the country and the problems it faces." Where was the line between bragging and being honest? Maybe he should backtrack? What were his worst qualities? "He's, uh, impatient, I suppose. Snappy. He has this look that everyone talks about, that he gives you when he's angry, and if you get it, you're in trouble."

"A look?" Kou snorts. "Really?"

Akaashi almost gives it to him then and there. "Really. Half the time you'd find him in the library, the other half with his father, always learning. He isn't close with his half-brother, but he does have his own friends. And, of course, his betrothed." 

Akaashi's eyes wander over to his pack, and his voice drops, just a little, as an ache forms in his chest. An easier topic. A sore topic. "They were very close, even though they'd not seen each other in years." Ten years and two months, to be exact. Not since he was twelve. "They wrote constantly, and Akaashi would always manage to be in the main hall when the messenger arrived. He'd disappear for an hour after. We all knew where he was, of course, but we let him pretend it was a secret." They had: he'd seen enough maids and nobles avert their eyes quite obviously as he near ran through corridors, letter in hand. Embarrassing, really. He twists his hands together at the memory. "Your Prince brought out the best in him."

The ache presses him, harder, and he stops speaking before he can further make a fool of himself, before he can make a mistake to cost him his secrecy. Before he starts missing the Crown Prince all over again. 

He needs to get to the capital.

Kou, meanwhile, is laughing under his breath, shaking his head, for all the world looking like he's been reminiscing. Perhaps about his own betrothed, as his fingers grace his collar again, absent. "Our Prince is an idiot. Lovable, but an idiot. I think your new Archon would be the one bringing out the best in him, not the other way around."

It's hard to clamp down on the retort that comes to mind, but he does. Instead, he yawns. The exhaustion, again catching up with him, even as his thoughts spin. The Crown Prince isn't an idiot, not at all. They'd discussed politics, treaties, new developments in astronomy and science, at length. He'd drawn detailed pictures of new flowers, of strange animals from distant lands, theorizing how they ate, slept, in the margins of his letters. Akaashi thinks Kou must not actually know his own Prince. But he's not going to let on how much he knows, either. "I wouldn't be able to guess. I don't know much about your Prince. Akaashi didn't speak of him to me, not in so many words. But I'm certain he can't be that incompetent."

"Well, I guess you'll see for yourself when we get to the capital, huh?" Kou gives another short laugh, slapping his leg in the process. "I'm sure you'll be in for quite the shock. But for now, get to sleep. You're swaying where you sit, and I can see you holding in another yawn. I'll stay on watch. We'll have an early morning tomorrow, and a slow start, seeing as you've got no horse."

"I..." Akaashi pauses. A word sticks out to him. "What do you mean, we?" 

Kou shrugs. "I'll take you back to the capital. It's safer, that way, for you. And I think... waiting here..." Kou shrugs, his head ducking down. If Akaashi didn't know better, he'd call it sheepish. "My betrothed should be headed where you're going. I don't know why I ever thought I'd find... well, when you're in love, you can be pretty foolish!" 

Akaashi looks at his pack, feels the twinge in his chest. He doesn't want to answer that one. Focus is key, even as it slips through his fingers, into the edges of his heavy eyes and tired thoughts. He'd gotten what he'd hoped for, bluffed the hand to a victory. "Thank you for the escort. I can take first-"

"Don't even think about offering to take a watch, Kageyama. Go rest. I'll protect you."

The smile is still there, the fire still going, the Ornament, somehow, still burning strong. Akaashi purses his lips, one last time, as Kou picks up his sword and leans it against his shoulder. All the confidence a knight should have, with a hint of some strange satisfaction lingering in the corners of his eyes. Kou, the knight, is much more of a mystery, and much less of a simple idiot, than Akaashi had thought.

But he'd earned his escort, and his protection, and he consents. Kou should be able to protect him, for one night, from anything that might come across the border. 

It's easy enough to shift his pack around as a pillow, to lie himself down, facing the forest, watching his shadow flicker and stretch into the dark line of the trees. The exhaustion acts as his blanket, smothering and cold, settling deep in his bones now that he gives it space. He thinks of the journey, the long trip into Fukurodani still ahead. He thinks of Ushijima's stern, cold face, when he realized where the hole in the tower wall came from. He thinks of his father, on his throne, his smile flashing the same time as his golden crown. He thinks, briefly, about how he's going to explain all this to Kou when the truth has to come out.

The last thing Akaashi thinks of is the Crown Prince. His hand slips into his shirt, curls around his betrothal necklace, as his mind slips away to darkness.


	2. he wanted love, i taste of blood

He awakens to the blast of a hunting horn followed closely by sheer, unfiltered panic. 

Akaashi is bolt upright in seconds. He'd know the sound of that horn anywhere, from any distance. And he doesn't like how close a distance it is. He springs to his feet, feeling the necklace bang against his chest as he shoves hair out of his eyes. His sword - still in place beside him. His pack - a bit disorganized from sleeping on it, but present. The fire - 

Kou stares at him, still sitting in the exact spot from the night before, face covered in utter confusion. His head is so far to the side that, had Akaashi's body not been trying to flee at top speed, he may have laughed. As it is, it's all he can do to stand in one place and meet Kou's gaze. His fingers feel clunky as he bends to belt the sword.

The horn sounds again. The rattle, the spacing, the sound: he knows them all. He's sounded the horn himself, the few times his half-brother had loaned him it. He had known Ushijima would come for him, but he didn't think he would be caught. And he didn't think he would come personally. 

Time. He needs time. He finishes belting the sword and checks for his knife - a last resort if he needs it. He throws the pack over his shoulder, a deep shuddering breath coming with it. He scans what he can see through the dense trees until Kou clamps his hands firmly down on his shoulders, hard enough to grind his teeth and rattle his jaw. 

Akaashi hadn't seen him stand. 

"What in hell is going on?" Kou demands. He looks tired, under the confusion. Akaashi should have insisted on taking a watch. "You sat bolt upright at the sound of that horn, and you're rushing around like-" His eyes dart down, sliding just off Akaashi's face. They go wide. Akaashi follows them to his collar. The betrothal necklace, and, beside it, his secret, sits in full view. The ring. His father's ring. The signet and sign of the Archon.

Akaashi stuffs it back down the front of his tunic, but it's not fast enough. It shows in Kou's eyes, in the sharp intake of breath, in the way his hands dig into Akaashi's shoulders. 

He knows. He'd recognized it. _Shit._

The horn. Closer. He doesn't know if Kou will let him leave, now. But he has to try. For both their sakes.

"We need to get out of here," Akaashi says, his voice coming out in a croak. His eyes dart to the trees, the dark shadows. How long has it been since the horn sounded? If he hears it again, could he figure out the distance? How much time is left? "You have to hide. Please, just trust me. They won't think - they won't know you've helped me if we're not seen together. They're here for me, and they'll... Kou? Are you listening? We need to get out of here!"

Kou isn't listening. He's staring. His amber eyes, wide, seem distant. There's something like disbelief in the corners of his mouth, the slack of his jaw. Akaashi tries to squirm away from his grip, but it's too tight, too firm. 

"It's you," Kou murmurs. "You're Akaashi. The Archon."

The horn blares again, closer than ever. Panic chokes Akaashi's throat, the rush giving him the strength to push Kou away, to stagger back. Kou looks shocked, as if, for the first time, he's registering that Akaashi may or may not be losing all semblance of control.

"What are you doing?!" Akaashi tries to shout, but it's screechy, tight. Hoarse. "We don't have time for this! Get on Ace and go! All our hunting horns are distinct, and I'd know Ushijima's anywhere. He's after _me_ , and I have to-"

"No."

"No?!" This time, Akaashi can't hold it in. He laughs. Short, hysteric. He's never heard himself make a sound like that before in his life. "Kou, you can't-"

"I'm not leaving you." He straps on his breastplate, a pair of arm guards, his sword. His eyes are hard, his face steel. Back straight, at full height, he strikes an intimidating figure, his shadow just beginning to stretch outwards to the trees. But Akaashi doesn't want an intimidating figure. He needs to leave, to run, to get away. "I will never-"

Whatever Kou says is drowned in a barrage of hooves, by the blaring of a horn mere yards away. Akaashi's sword is in his hand before he's aware of drawing it, with Kou not far behind. The cloth grinds into his fingers as his grip tightens. There's time for one last deep breath, but he can't seem to take it.

One by one, the riders of Shiratorizawa burst through the forest. Kou shuffles closer, almost standing in front of him, his eyes darting as fast as Akaashi's to take in the scene. A twinge of guilt tries, but fails, to get through his panic, as the riders continue to stream in.

All Akaashi had wanted was an escort to the captial. Now he's trapped them both. 

He loses count after thirty, as a second row forms a semi-circle around their laughably small camp, numbers too high to make the easily defendable location any good. Their faces are all familiar - lesser nobles he'd had dealings with, people he'd trained with, knights he'd sparred with. Tendou, near the middle of the first line, leans forward casually. His nose is swollen. Akaashi had broken it during his escape. Semi, calm and collected beside Tendou, little emotion showing on his face, the familiarity and friendship they'd shared gone.

The lines part down the middle.

Kou tenses, but not as much as Akaashi. The chestnut gelding, its black socks and silver harness, the golden hunting horn, individually carved, unique and familiar. He'd picked the horse himself, bought it as a gift for his half-brother two years ago. A strange thought to have: he wonders where it came from, why it shoved its way through the sheet of panic around his body, brain.

It won't do him any good against the rock, the mountain, the insurmountable figure that is Ushijima Wakatoshi. His brown hair is slicked back, his armour, white trimmed with gold, reflecting the morning sky. A purple cape, held in place by a gold eagle pin, splays down his back. 

"Akaashi Keiji," he booms, his low voice carrying easily across their camp. His sword is still at his side, but his eyes are dark enough to know that could change in an instant. "You are under arrest for crimes against Shiratorizawa. You will be coming back with us, now."

He waits. To him, that's the end of the story: he's said it, so it must be obeyed. Akaashi feels the edge of his panic slip off, feels himself scowl. Ushijima had always had too much nerve for his own good. He pushes Kou to the side as he takes a step forward, ignoring the other man's protest and his own fear. "I will not."

Ushijima doesn't even blink. "You have committed crimes against the country. You are a wielder of Natural magic. The punishment is death. If that were not enough, you have stolen from the royal house. Do not think a cloth can hide my father's sword from me. You have his ring, as well, I am sure. They will be surrendered to us when you come into custody."

"He's _our_ father," Akaashi retorts. He strains to keep his limbs from shaking, to keep his voice steady. Stick to the truth. "This sword is mine. The ring is mine. The moment _our_ father died, I became the Uncrowned Archon. What was his is mine. And that includes the nation."

Tendou clicks his tongue, the sound ringing out in the silence like cannonfire. "Pretty fancy words, for a thief."

"Regardless." Ushijima continues as if Tendou hasn't spoken. Tendou rolls his eyes to Semi, who doesn't react. His cold gaze does not leave Akaashi's face, waiting for him to slip, or panic. Akaashi grips his sword harder. "You have still broken the law, and you will face judgment."

"No. I'm not going back with you." 

Ushijima shakes his head. He draws his sword, the motion slow, precise. "If you will not come of your own will, then I shall force you to follow. You were clever to evade us so long, Akaashi, and tracking you was difficult across the border. I have grown tired of chasing you. It is time you face the law."

Each rider draws follows his motion, drawing their own swords. A sea of steel, stretched before him, the hard faces of former allies and friends walling him in. Akaashi scans each person he can see for a hint, a reserve of something to turn them to his side. But there is nothing there. Not in Ushijima. Not in anyone. There is no mercy to be had.

He straightens his shoulders and fixes his grip on his sword. This time, they come: one deep breath, and another. It isn't bravery that sets his feet in place. Akaashi has not once considered himself that - not when he fled the country, not when he tricked Kou, not now, facing down what should be his army, his people. It's only about survival until he reaches his goal.

He will not die before then. 

"I am Akaashi Keiji, the Heir to the Heavens, the Black Swan of Summer, the White Heron of Spring. I am the law and the land, the Uncrowned Archon of Shiratorizawa." He meets his half-brother's eyes, green against brown, fire against ice. "You have no charge, no power over me. And I am not going back."

Ushijima nods, opens his mouth, and-

"Weeeeeeell, I think that's enough of that. Don't you?"

Ushijima blinks. Akaashi blinks. The riders blink.

Kou leans on his sword, driven into the ground. The grin on his face is wicked. The light plays in his silver-black hair. A predator cornering his prey. Once every eye is on him, he straightens, drawing the sword point from the ground with ease. He examines the blade, and from his expression, Akaashi wouldn't have been surprised to see him brush the dirt off.

He gives Akaashi a glance, and a wink. Akaashi falters, almost losing his grip on his sword. What was he _doing_?

"Knight of Fukurodani," Ushijima booms. Tendou yelps in surprise, and the silence breaks. Murmurs spread through the ranks of riders. "Our business is with this criminal. We have no qualm with you."

"See, that's the interesting thing here. You're in my country now. And we have no laws against anyone who has the Gift." The grin is terrifying, confident. Cocky. This isn't the same man who'd yelled over stew, fumbled through his words. "You can't arrest him."

"He is ours to take. We have a peace treaty. Though I doubt you have been made aware of the details, you are obliged to hand any untowards back to us, should we demand it. And I do demand it."

"Ah yes, those gritty details, of which I am unaware." Kou shrugs. "As I remember it, you know, from the little I've heard, we only have to turn over criminals when you formally request it, and appeal it to the Queens." Kou taps the side of his head. "Instead, you've brought over fifty riders with you in our borders. And yes, I know you have scouts hidden in the trees. This peace treaty you seem to know so well forbids an escort of over forty when you cross the border. It seems you need to get a bit more familiar with it before you try and steal the throne."

Another rumble of murmurs through the riders. He's right. It's the fact, the truth, that makes Akaashi's jaw drop. "Kou, what are you doing?"

Kou glances at him, but shifts his gaze back to Ushijima when he replies. "Protecting you. Like I said I would."

"But this isn't... how do you even know the treaty that well?" Akaashi wants to grab his shoulder, spin him around, and shake the answer out of him. "That isn't something they let anyone read the details of. I mean, the gist, yes, but - who are you?"

Kou grins, but doesn't do so much as turn his head. He keeps his eyes on Ushijima, as if their chat had been a brief private aside. Akaashi feels confusion burn the edges of his panic. He doesn't like not being able to figure a situation out. And Kou is the biggest unknown he's faced in ages.

"Are you still going to try and take him, or are you going to turn around and do this properly?" Kou is a coiled spring, spinning the sword in his hand. "Well, Ushijima, what is it?"

"I do not have the leisure of leaving him for so long, that you may poison his mind with your talk of Gifts. Natural magic is the highest of crimes, the cause of the near destruction of our land, one hundred years past." Ushijima shifts the reins in his hand, eyes growing colder by the moment. "Natural magic is the root of all unrest, and its destruction is the basis of Shiratorizawa. If I must fight you to uphold my law, so be it. If I must renege our treaty, so be it. Fukurodani's harbouring of such disgusting magic should have prevented any peace to begin with, but my father was soft. When I am Archon, I will not be. Pray for your afterlife, knight of Fukurodani. I shall not hold back."

"Kou-" Akaashi starts. Kou raises a hand to silence him. He flicks the other, shifting his grip on the sword, the cloth unraveling, inch by inch. Beneath it, the golden pommel is engraved with a blazing sun, a black sapphire, pitch and lightless, in the middle. 

The symbols of the royal house of Fukurodani. The riders stir, fidget. Semi's eyes go wide. Even Ushijima slips into his own private shock. 

Akaashi forgets how to breathe. 

"I," Kou announces, the light streaming through the clouds, haloing his face, his grin, his sword, "am the Lord of the Sunrise, the Owl of the North, First Child of the Golden Throne, the Crown Prince of Fukurodani, Bokuto Koutarou." He pauses as the words settle, blanketing the clearing, the forest. "Do you still wish to challenge me?"

Ten years, and two months. 

Ten years and two months of letters, of chasing down messengers, of crumpled papers and ink stains along his nail beds. Ten years and two months gazing north, wondering about his betrothed, how things have changed. Of collecting trinkets to pass along, stories to tell, imagining how the small boy of fourteen with a scrape along his face and burs in his dark hair would look, as an adult. The answer stands beside him, grin feral, shining like the morning light he's named for. 

Akaashi hasn't planned for this gamble, this meeting. A knight, he can handle. An escort, he can handle. His betrothed, here, somehow _here_ , makes the pack on his back, the envelope hidden there, triple in weight. His eyes are wide, and his body has forgotten how to move.

He doesn't know what to do.

Ushijima recovers first, a shudder running through him. The hardness remains, in his face and eyes. Akaashi's fear leaps past the shock. It's not the look of a man who will surrender. "It cannot be helped. Our laws have existed before any foolish peace treaty was brokered, and none, Prince or Archon, shall stand above it. If you had been a peasant, a King, I would not hesitate." Ushijima raises his hand. Tension boils through the riders, taught strings ready to be unleashed. He lowers it. "Go."

Kou - Bokuto - grinds his heels into the dirt, casting his gaze back and forth as if he truly means to fight the small army surrounding Ushijima. It's foolish. Akaashi knows how well the riders fight - and two men is not enough to stop them. His mind races through the information, the strategies, the fact Bokuto, the Crown Prince, the goal at the end of his flight north, is at his side, ready to die. He isn't ready for Bokuto to die. The feeling grips him, the determination, latching to his chest through the fear. He isn't ready for either of them to die.

The plan forms, quite simply, in the corner of his mind. There's only one way to take out an army, to save them. Two men is not enough. A monster, though. That might be different. As the riders close, as Bokuto yells a battle cry, as his blade soars to meet Ushijima's, Akaashi raises his own.

Natural magic only requires two things: a feeling, and blood.

He slices his palm, shallow and quick, biting cold steel against a cold hand. The blood is warm, too warm, too red and too much and too fast. He pushes past the pain, holds onto the feeling, the need for life, for survival, and as he clenches his hand into a fist, as he raises it over his head, he channels Natural magic at his own army. 

He unleashes hell.

The ground cracks apart beneath the riders. Huge chunks of earth and stone move, twist, divide. The world shakes, the rumbles travelling through Akaashi's body, his soul, but he does not break focus. Crashes fill the air, rocks breaking in two, splintering trees ripped from their roots. Screams: from horses, from their riders. Dust stains the air brown, black, thick enough to block the sun. Blood stains the ground the same colour.

And Akaashi does not stop. 

He does not stop as horses fall, as riders scramble back supporting each other, caught in cracks and gaps of the earth. He does not stop as the trees twist on themselves, blocking exists, branches falling, maiming the retreat. He does not stop as Ushijima, both hands on the reins, wheels his horse around the madness, on elevated plains of rock, jumping across the chasms forming at his feet. He does not stop even as their eyes meet, as Ushijima glares with enough hatred, enough loathing, to be as strong a force as the earthquake Akaashi controls. 

He only stops when there is no one left to kill, when the screams die down, when Ushijima takes his horse at a full run back through the trees, when the bodies of nobles and knights and horses, discarded weapons, litter the broken ground in a circle around the undamanged camp. He unclenches his fist. He lets go of the feeling.

Blood rushes to his head, his eyes, and his vision goes red like his blood, black like the sky. When he can see again, he's on his back with no memory of falling, with no idea how much time has passed, if any at all.

Everything hurts.

"Don't move." Kou's - Bokuto, it's Bokuto's - voice drifts to him from miles away, through wads of cotton stuffed in his head. Akaashi tries to reply, and it comes out as a groan. The air reeks. It feels gritty in his lungs. "I mean it, Akaashi. Just stay there for a minute, alright? And _don't_ look at your hand."

Footsteps - Bokuto is going somewhere. Akaashi gazes at the clouds, the light blue sky. Pinpricks lace their way up and down his arms. Something throbs behind his eyes. When he'd destroyed the tower wall, there'd been no consequence. Maybe this is what he deserves for using Natural magic on purpose. Maybe this is another part of its curse. Sweat slicks his curls to his face, and the dampness is pressing, uncomfortable. He brings his hand up to brush them back, to pinch his nose, to try and force his mind to focus on anything other than the soreness running through his body.

He screams.

There should be blood. He knows it - he felt its warmth, saw the colour, inflicted the injury on himself. The cut is still there - but not the blood. Pulsing black sludge bubbles from the wound, dark thick tendrils curled around his wrist. It pops, fizzes in the air, slow and steady, oozing around his thumb, staining the trim of his sleeve. There is nothing left red on his hand, his arm. 

Bile rises in the back of his throat, but he can't tear his eyes away. He scrambles, sitting up, trying to put as much distance between himself and his hand as he can. Pain sears his limbs, but panic has a firm grip again, and his body shakes, convulses, with effort and repulsion. He clamps his teeth so hard together he feels them grind. If he opens his mouth, he'll throw up. He'll scream again. 

He truly is a monster.

"I told you not to look." Bokuto sits down heavily. His saddlebags crash beside him. Belatedly, Akaashi wrenches his gaze from his hand. Ace, untouched, is still tethered a safe ways off. "Don't worry about Ace. I've calmed him for the most part, but this sure spooked him. Try not to throw up on me, alright? Next time, listen when I say not to look."

Akaashi swallows. When he speaks, his voice is dry. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You overexerted yourself." Bokuto pulls out his canteen, a cloth from the bags. He soaks it in water, takes Akaashi's hand in his, and sets to work on the sludge. It sticks, the water not quite doing enough to remove it, but Bokuto is persistent. The scrubbing makes it hard for Akaashi to focus, his vision drifting. "Think of it as... dulling a sword blade. Use it for the wrong thing, or too much, and the weapon is useless for a while. The same thing with magic, Practical or the Gift. Use too much, untrained, or strain yourself too far, and your body has to react. Like pulling a muscle. To teach you to be smarter, next time."

"I don't understand," Akaashi mumbles. Smarter? Overexerted? Why did it turn his blood black? Bokuto presses too hard and the pain makes Akaashi's eyes roll back. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to faint. "Am I going to die?"

"Huh? No, of course not! It just means you're going to feel like shit for a while. Don't even think about using the Gift again for at least a week." Bokuto examines the cloth, now near entirely black, and shoves it back in the bag. His hands work quickly, pulling out bandages, wrapping the wound with deftness only knights have. "Don't take this off. I keep forgetting you Southerners really have no understanding of magic. Take a deep breath. You're good. You're safe."

Akaashi tries. It doesn't go too well. His chest feels compressed, the cotton shifts in his head, and the entire effort makes his body shudder. Bokuto purses his lips. He mutters, too low for Akaashi to make out the words, and begins working again. He dives in the saddlebags, pulling out a collection of odd items: bark, a small rock, a needle like wooden stick, a thin piece of twine. It's only as he wraps them together, as he stabs the needle through the bark, Akaashi catches up.

"Are you making an Ornament?" he asks. It's hard to keep track of Bokuto's fingers - they seem to move too quickly for his eyes to catch. Bokuto nods as he works, but doesn't break his concentration until he's created a small, though odd shaped, lump. He slides it into a small pouch and draws the top closed.

"Tie this to your necklace," he says. "It'll help the headache, and the exhaustion. First thing they teach you as a knight, if you can do Practical magic. Saved my life before."

Akaashi can't manage the fine motor skill required to grab the pouch from Bokuto's hand, effectively smacking it onto the ground. Bokuto ends up tugging the necklace out from under the tunic himself, tying it off, and stuffing it back down his shirt. The Ornament works, freeing Akaashi's mind from cotton, lifting some of the pain from his limbs. He takes the requested deep breath.

With the ability to focus restored, he takes the chance to properly survey the carnage. There are definitely bodies, though there are fewer humans than he expected - the greater casualty is horses. His pack is beside him, as is his sword - back in its sheath, and unbelted. Bokuto must have taken it and the pack off him when he collapsed. Bokuto hovers beside him, lips thin and straight, fingers twitching as if he wants to fix something else. 

It strikes Akaashi that he's face to face with the Crown Prince, covered in blood and dirt and sweat, and he should probably say something.

"Thank you," he manages. He flexes his fingers around the bandage, staring at it rather than meeting Bokuto's eyes. "I... I'm sorry about lying, about who I was. I didn't want to get caught, or noticed, but... it seems it was a wasted effort."

"Nah, don't worry. I didn't exactly say who I was, either. I'm just glad I found you." He pauses. There's some hesitation in his voice. "I was worried. I didn't know what happened, just that you were in trouble. I was hoping you'd come north."

"I had nowhere else to go."

Akaashi waits for a reply, but none comes. He steals a glance up to Bokuto's face. The Prince is pointedly looking at the ground, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. There's flush to his cheeks. He hums, the note wavering and short. He glances back, and when their eyes meet, his cheeks grow darker. He goes right back to looking at the ground.

For a moment, Akaashi continues to stare, eyes narrowing. Then, memories of the night before rush back: his description of the Archon (who he is), his talk of letters (which Bokuto wrote), Bokuto's words on his betrothed (who, again, he is). Akaashi regrets every word he'd said, immediately and completely, and tries not to think about how red his own cheeks must be turning recalling Bokuto's. 

Writing letters is so much easier than this.

He clears his throat. "We should, uh, get going," he mumbles. He brushes dirt off his pants, his boots, to little effect. "There's no telling what Ushijima might do. He may be on the way back to burn the treaty with his own hands, or gathering an actual army to invade. We. Uh. Should continue. To the capital."

"Yeah, right. Good call. Ma and Mother aren't going to like _this_ mess," Bokuto grumbles. He digs a hand through his hair. "Gotta get the inevitable lecture from both mothers over with some time. Do you think you can stand?"

Akaashi does a survey of his body. The Ornament is working well, but whatever Natural magic takes from his blood, he's lost a lot of it. "Stand, yes. But I don't think I can walk."

"We can ride Ace to the nearest village. He's strong enough to carry us both there, though we'll have to go slow. I'll buy you a horse." 

Akaashi opens his mouth to remark he can buy his own horse, but Bokuto doesn't seem to notice. He gets to his feet in a fluid motion, saddlebags in hand. He makes himself busy, shushing Ace, feeding him some grain from the bags, reattaching everything he needs. Akaashi watches, but remains sitting. He may have claimed much to say he can stand, and he doesn't want to prove himself a liar again.

"About last night," Bokuto's voice carries on the still air, but he faces the forest, and Akaashi can't see his face. The words, without expression, are cold. "Last night, you said the new Archon was a monster. Do you really believe that, about yourself?"

Akaashi stares at the bandages on his hand, the bodies, the cracked and broken earth and fallen trees. He stares, in memory, at the gaping hole in the tower. He feels it still, inside him, leaking through the bandages, black stain on white. Leaking into his mind. 

"I asked Kageyama last night, but I will ask you now, too, Akaashi. Why are you here, if you hate the Gift this much?"

The truth. He'd always thought it best to stick to it, but now it sticks in him, in his throat. A burden he doesn't wish to admit. A shame as deep as the powers within him.

"Because I'm afraid." Bokuto doesn't move, doesn't seem to breathe. Akaashi puts his face in his hands, the bandage wet and sticky, smelling of dirt. "I'm not noble, and I'm not strong. I'm a coward. I used to say I'd rather die than be like the Natural magic users who torn down Shiratorizawa, who slaughtered my family, who made our rivers run red with royal blood. But faced with the truth, I couldn't bear the thought of dying. I didn't want to die. I _don't_ want to. And I hate myself for it." His voice catches, and he chokes, the tears not quite spilling from his eyes, the sob not quite escaping. "I've never heard a tale of Natural magic that did not end in tragedy, and I am afraid mine will, too. I don't know any other option than to be a monster now, Bokuto."

Silence. It's two shuddering breaths before he can bring himself to peek between his fingers, ready to look down again should he need to. Bokuto is as immovable as Ushijima, his hands frozen against the saddle. His back, ramrod straight, a wall between Akaashi and his betrothed. It has been easy, with Kou, to speak, to be reprimanded, but the thought of Bokuto hating him... he'd lost too much already.

"My best friend, a fellow knight, has the Gift," Bokuto whispers. Akaashi has to strain to make the words out. "He's funny. Got a bit of a mean streak to him, but he's patient when he's teaching you. I had to leave him behind when we became betrothed, because he would have been killed the moment he crossed your borders. I swore then, that when we got married, your death penalty would be the first law struck down in our united kingdom." He turns around, and the smile on his face is small, but present. "I do not believe you are a monster, Akaashi Keiji, no more than he is. Magic does not determine a person's worth. Coward or not, I am glad to see you alive. And since you are alive, I will show you a world where you do not have to be a monster."

Akaashi nods, pushing his face back into his hands. He thinks the Ornament must have stopped working, as exhaustion can be the only thing making him cry. It's definitely not the words Bokuto said. It's not the pressure of the week, the loss of his father, anything else. Just exhaustion. 

Bokuto lets him cry without commenting on it, which is more than he deserves.

He stays there until Ace approaches, hooves loud in the silence of the camp. Bokuto leans down and taps his head, tugs a curl. Akaashi glares between his fingers until Bokuto pulls back and straightens in the saddle. Unsteady, Akaashi wipes his eyes, blinks back any remaining tears. He stands, belts his sword, slings his pack on. It's extraordinarily heavy in his state, but he bites down any complaint. 

He takes Bokuto's hand to swing up behind him on Ace, Bokuto doing the majority of the work. Akaashi half leans, half collapses against Bokuto's back, as he kicks Ace into a walk.

"There's a village about a day's ride away that should have horses. It's around a week's trip to the capital. Just don't fall asleep on me, alright?" Bokuto laughs, guiding Ace across the ruined ground, around the bodies of other horses. Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut and nods. He doesn't think he can talk.

The ride towards the main road is quiet, and Akaashi uses it to think, review, to wipe his eyes again. He knows this isn't the end for Ushijima - and all he can hope is that he won't return to Fukurodani, not yet. There's a large chance he might tear the treaty in half, gather in the army, the soldiers from the other edges of the nation. There's a large chance Akaashi, in saving his hide, has started not only a civil war, but one between allies.

Not a good path to go down, not in his state. He tries to think about the trip back to the capital, instead. It's his first time in the country, though so far it's the same as Shiratorizawa. Perhaps further inland the differences will arise - something beyond accents. He does have a week, and-

Wait.

"Bokuto... how did you know to find me?" Akaashi straightens a bit, peering over Bokuto's shoulder as best he can. "You'd been waiting a few days, but I've only been away from the Amethyst Castle a week. I thought perhaps you'd heard rumours but... to get here before me, even on horse, you would have had to leave around the same time I did. How could you know I was leaving?" 

"What do you mean, how? Of course I knew." Bokuto shoots a confused expression over his shoulder. "Akaashi, I expected you not to know anything about the Gift, but do you really not know anything about Practical magic, either?"

"I know _plenty_ ," Akaashi snaps. He digs his fingers into Bokuto's side, pretending to get a grip, but really just taking revenge. Bokuto yelps. "Just because I wasn't to use it doesn't mean I didn't study it. What does that have to do with my question?"

Bokuto hums. He throws his head back, studying the clouds for a moment. "Do you know why we have betrothal necklaces?"

"Tradition? It's to symbolize the promise between families. It's been done for hundreds of years across the continent."

"That's one reason. In Fukurodani, it's also Practical magic." Bokuto shifts around, stuffing his hand in his tunic and lifting his betrothal necklace off his head. He slides it back to Akaashi, who releases his death grip on Bokuto's sides to grab it. "Yours, of course, wouldn't do anything even if you could use Practical magic. Like the Gift, it needs intent to work. So, some necklaces are just that. But others, like the one I made for you, are more. They're Ornaments." 

Akaashi rubs his finger over the amber droplet, the acorn top pressed to it, still warm from Bokuto's skin. He remembers digging through the oak trees for one to fit the amber chunk, sitting in the shadows until his father took him inside to meet his Bokuto for the first time. Bokuto had been fourteen then, short, dark haired, bright eyed. Nothing like the man before him, silver and giant, in height and breadth, guiding a horse around a tree, calmly explaining Practical magic with expert confidence.

"It's supposed to connect you to your betrothed, so, regardless of distance, you can feel their presence. In reality, it's strong emotions you sense - things like happiness, anger..." Bokuto trails off. "Sadness. Pain. Fear."

Ah. "You felt it, then. When my father died. You knew when it happened."

Bokuto nods. "I felt your sadness, Akaashi, stronger than ever before, and I knew it couldn't be anything good. When, immediately after, came the pain, the fear - I knew you were in trouble, and I... I was afraid I'd lose you. I tried to convince the Queens to act, but..." He sighs. "It's hard to convince a nation to move an army south because your betrothed is in some kind of trouble. I left on my own, in the middle of the night, and pressed Ace hard to get here. I hoped I'd run across you - I thought it would be the most likely place to camp off the main road, but after a few days..."

"I understand." He hands the necklace back, and Bokuto pulls it on, but doesn't tuck it into his tunic. A wave of dizziness strikes him, and Akaashi wraps his arms around Bokuto's body, presses his face against his back as he waits for it to pass. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, Bokuto. I'd hoped to be able to meet you in the capital and explain things there, not end up near passing out on your horse, having brought war to your country as well as my own."

"I don't think most of that is really your own fault, and you didn't drag me to the border. I wanted to come for you." He shifts his elbow back, gently pressing it into Akaashi's arm. "Don't be so glum, Akaashi. You're a smart man. If anyone can figure this out and get his throne back, it's you."

Akaashi isn't quite sure that's true. His plans, and subsequent cowardice, are the reasons the lands are in this mess to begin with. The Queens certainly won't be happy, and he isn't charming like Bokuto is. He's analytic. Precise. He feels himself hurtling, a bit too fast, towards a cliff. He doesn't want to drag Bokuto down it, too.

"Bokuto..." Akaashi twists his hands together, even though he can't see them around Bokuto's body. Bad idea. His limbs feel even heavier from the effort. "I know you came all this way for me, but if you... if you have any second thoughts, I don't want to force you to..."

"To... what?" Bokuto reins Ace up, turning in his saddle. Akaashi meets his eyes, once, and then stares back down. He doesn't want to say it. It isn't an option he really wants to give Bokuto, having come all this way to see him, but it needs to be done. Bringing war to your betrothed's country, destroying the peace treaty that hinges on your marriage...

"If you don't want to get married, I'll understand," Akaashi mumbles. All the talking is making his head hurt. "I think it might be worth considering-"

"Are you joking?" The sheer indignation in Bokuto's screech is what makes Akaashi snap his head back up. He blinks. Bokuto looks as if Akaashi had just suggested cutting off his own hand. "Of course I still want to marry you! Akaashi, I've been in love with you since we first met!" Heat rises in Akaashi's cheeks, but Bokuto hasn't finished talking. "You could plunge the entire continent into the Apocalypse and I'd still want to get married to you. Which, I mean, you might have done, but that's my point! You think I'd disobey my mothers for just anyone? You think I'd haul ass out here to protect you if I didn't want you with me?"

"Well, I-"

"Even if Ushijima is burning that treaty right now to heat his tea, or the Queens disown me, even if we can't unite our lands, I'm marrying you, Akaashi Keiji. I'll do it if we have to elope to Karasuno together. I spent ten years writing you every week because I think you're smart, and fun to talk to. You keep me in line, but don't look down on me. You respect me. And I love you. So this is the last I want to hear of that, alright?" He pauses, face draining of colour. "I mean, like, so long as _you_ want to. I'm not going to force you, to marry me, or anything, or like, uh. Yeah. Wow, I should get a move on! Let's go, Ace!"

Bokuto flicks the reins, and Ace renews his walk. Akaashi finds the strength to press his face against Bokuto's back again. It's much safer there, trying to calm his breathing, willing his face to go back to normal. It takes a few moments before he can gather his thoughts enough to be able to clear their air between them. "I have your letters."

"You - you what?"

"I brought all your letters." The words tumble out, not quite how he wants them to, but the headache is leeching into his mind again. The Ornament might be wearing off, or perhaps his body really needs to shut down. "They're in my pack. I only had time to grab so much before I fled. The ring, the sword. And the letters. They don't mean anything to the rest of the castle, and I was afraid they'd be destroyed, and..." He takes a breath, but it comes out more of a yawn. Not exactly what he needs in the moment. "They were the best part of my days, Bokuto. I loved them. And I... love you, too. I just wanted to be sure things were still... alright between us."

"Oh." Bokuto shifts in the saddle, and though Akaashi tries to raise his head, he finds he can't. "Well... things are still alright between us, Akaashi. So don't worry. I've got a lot to show you after all!"

"Mm," Akaashi replies, the sound all he thinks he can manage. He tightens his grip around Bokuto, presses himself closer with great effort. "I need you to keep talking. I'm... it's getting hard to focus."

"Focus...?" A pause, another shuffle. "Ah. Ornament's wearing off so soon, huh? Alright, Akaashi, I won't let the Archon of Shiratorizawa fall off the back of a horse like a page on his first day of training." He laughs. "What do you want me to talk about?"

"The Ornament you used to make the fire." Akaashi's eyes close, his breaths shallow, his mind scrambling, tumbling, as he desperately tries to focus. "Tell me about it. How did you make the fire sit above the flames, like that? What's the base?"

"Charcoal, actually. It's a bit of a tricky Ornament to make, though the materials are common. Practical magic is all about order..."

Akaashi nods, lulled by Bokuto's words, by the sway of the horse, by the slow, but steady, disappearance of the bleakness inside him. He uses Bokuto's voice as a focus, around the exhaustion, the headache, digging his hands into tunic to hold himself in place. 

He's beginning to think he'd been right - that if he found Bokuto, if the Crown Prince was on his side, there was a chance things would work out. A chance for his throne, his life. A very small chance, but big enough for him to bet on it.

And after all, Akaashi Keiji, the Uncrowned Archon of Shiratorizawa, can gamble with the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a day late for valentines day, but ao3 server issues prevented me from uploading yesterday. i hope you all enjoyed nonetheless!! :)


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